It’s supposed to make a plant taste so terrible,
a caterpillar would rather die than eat. I know
about this — a certain bitterness in the shape of
growth, an impediment that cannot be overcome
by will. I know how it is, to never gain wings
or undergo the painful mystery, the difficult
launch that enables any flying thing to fly.

I love my pit bull, but what are we doing here?
If I knew how to tango like this, I certainly would.
Y’all are bringing me down, down, down
like an ant to an anthill, except it’s the wrong one
and I don’t have a key or a pocket to put it in.
I love my animal instincts that keep my fingers
out of light sockets most of the time —
every time, up until now.